Page 57

By the time we reach Remus’s room, my stomach is a pot of bubbling vexation. Jarvis uses his good arm to swing the door open and my heart catches in my throat when I catch sight of Will, sitting in the center of the room, his hands bound behind the back of his chair. From beside a barred window, Agatha saunters toward him as I enter, and traces her finger over his shoulder, which flinches on contact. His skin is pale, his face gaunt and the shadows beneath his eyes speak of little sleep.

At the end of the bed is a contraption that’s no less disturbing than the tipped cross from a few days ago, but this one sits on the floor. A steel frame with two leather padded props, each connected to belts that hang off the side. Frowning, I try not to imagine its purpose and, instead, turn my attention back to Will.

“What is this? What’s wrong with him?”

“Tell me, Thalia. How do you know this handsome boy?” Agatha winds her fingers in Will’s hair, wrenching his head back, and drags her tongue over his cheek.

Grimacing, Will snaps away from her, and she giggles with the rejection.

“I don’t know him personally.”

“Really? Because I swear you do.”

I don’t even have to look around the room to sense a complete absence of Remus. I’ve noticed Agatha becomes more emboldened when he isn’t around. “I understand Remus asked for me?”

“Remus didn’t ask for you, silly girl. I did.” Glancing toward somewhere beyond me, she gives a nod, and the shadows behind me shift.

I turn to see Titus step forward, and my blood turns to ice when he strides up close enough to dwarf me. The story Tom told me comes to mind. How Agatha made Titus tear a man’s guts out just to hurt Lindsay.

“Look how big he is, Thalia. How strong. Can you even imagine such a thing moving against you?” She lazily sidles up alongside the beastly man, dragging her fingertips across his chest and arm. “He’d ravage an innocent thing like you, like a wolf ransacking a precious little lamb.”

“What do you want, Agatha? Why did you ask for me?”

When she circles back to face me, I see she’s grabbed something from somewhere, which she holds up when she plops herself at the end of the bed. It looks like a gun, but given the presence of Titus in the room, I’m guessing it shoots the darts Tom told me about. My suspicions are confirmed when she aims the weapon at the man standing just behind me, as though she needs to assert her authority for what comes next.

“On the bench.”

Gaze flitting toward the contraption, and back to her, I shake my head. “What for?”

“I want to watch Titus fuck you.” As she shifts her attention on me, my heart slams against my chest, branching crystals of panic climbing my spine, the moment her lips stretch to a smile. “Rough, angry, animal sex. Like a brutal sire fucking a bitch.”

A tortured cry echoes through the room, one that should belong to me, but when I glance toward Will, he’s shifting and writhing in his chair.

Seeing him look so helpless somehow brings my reality into sharp focus. I not only refuse to endure such a thing, but I will not force him to watch it, either. “You …. Remus wanted a virgin to bear his child.”

“Yes, that’s true. And I suppose he’ll have to look elsewhere, because you’re definitely not a virgin.”

“I told you. We’re deflowered--”

“No, no. I believe you’ve got the story wrong, Dove. See, Will claims that he was the one who took your cherry.”

No. I shoot my gaze toward Will, who won’t even look at me. “He’s lying.”

“What does he gain from lying? Look at the poor boy. He hasn’t been given any privileges for his honesty.” She jerks the gun toward the contraption again. “On the bench. Now.”

“I very much doubt your brother would approve of this.”

“Remus isn’t here. He has some business with Legion for the next couple of days. I’m sure he’ll be upset when he sees his precious little virgin Daughter ruined beyond repair. But he’ll get over it. He always does. Now, get on the bench before I decide to tell Remus that I accidentally shot his beloved Daughter with a dart gun. Which, by the way, would be far less pleasant. Titus can attest to that.”

“Why? What have I done to make you so angry?”

“What makes you think I’m angry? You think this is jealousy? No, no. I do this because I genuinely enjoy it.” Swinging the gun toward Will, she doesn’t bother to look as she pulls the trigger, and the first dart lodges into the wall, the sound, on impact, flinching my muscles. “Get on the bench,” she says, casually loading another dart. “He might not be so lucky this time.”

Nerves rattled, I reluctantly lower myself to one of the leather padded props, confused as I sit down on it.

“No. That goes beneath your belly. Get on all fours.”

As I rest my stomach against the padded seat, it becomes clear, based on the length of the contraption, that the second prop is meant to rest my chin against it. The moment I’m in place, Agatha secures the leather belt across my back and the second behind my neck. Two more loops at the foot of the contraption secure my wrists.